Nursing a Soul Eater
by clexausic
Summary: Soul Eater needs someone to care, someone who doesn't mind and saddens when no help can be offered. Soul Eater needs a meister, a Maka.


**A/N:** I got this idea while reading a book from _Agatha Christie _(bless you Agatha, you were ( you still are) one of the greatest writers), but I won't post the name of it here.

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><p>Nursing <em><span>a<span>_ Soul Eater

There's a faint knock on the door before the jumble of keys is heard on the other side, a habit that both meister and weapon had gained throughout the years as partners. Maka withdraws her eyes from the book she currently has stretched over the table and looks to the other side of the room where a very unsatisfied, frustrated Soul is closing the entrance.

Her mind wanders to the night before, and the one before that, and then she finds herself remembering that this isn't the first time her weapon had come home looking like her after a full afternoon with her papa – and that's saying a lot. She might even risk herself when thinking that he definitely looks a lot older than what he really is.

There are dark circles under those red-as-blood roses that she likes so much, his pale face a huge contrast with them and that together with his snowy hair turn him into a ghost.

Even though both of them are recognized mostly as the 'improbable pair' (with their souls being just too different to match even though they accomplished that task long ago), one of the things that connects them in common are, in overall, two things: their mutual interest in one another and their stubbornness. And since it was the latter that brought them to the top, she recognizes that it's the most important aspect of them all.

So, Soul is categorized in her dictionary as a 'lazynuss stubbornuss', a thing so rare that it doesn't exist elsewhere in the planet. Now that she has made a pact in her mind not to let his species end with just a snap, she has to at least try and ask him what's wrong.

"Are you alright?" She questions.

His answer comes in form of a half-hearted grumble and a series of garbled words as his hand is currently messing with his face. "Nev' felt bett'r."

"You shouldn't speak with your hand in front of your mouth, I can't understand a thing you're saying." Her vision returns to her book where there's no image of a Soul with a broken body to look at.

"Yes Maka, I feel completely fine, _heaven-like fine_ even."

She takes that as sarcasm.

There's a puffing noise coming from the living room and she raises her eyes once again to look over the kitchen wall to Soul, who has dropped dead on the small couch with limp arms dangling off the cushions. If you ask her, it would be pointless to have trouble and question him again if he's ok. The only reason that makes Maka open her mouth again is _just _to check if her partner is really dead or just in a light coma.

"You look like crap." Well, at least she's testing out new approach systems. And the blond will only stop when it becomes painfully clear that her actions are causing more trouble than help.

His reply came quick enough. "And yet, I feel so much worse."

The tech ponders what to do next with a finger supporting her chin in a thinking manner. Her eyes glance one more time to her tired partner who now had his forearm over his face.

Maka sighed deeply and conceded defeat with raised hands, for she was the only one of the house with at least a bit of moral and brains left behind. She rose from her seat on the kitchen table and made her way towards the first row of cupboards where she took a plate with slice of simple chocolate cake, baked by her hands in case a little bug came to plague her stomach in a study session

By the time the blond arrived near her not-so-dying partner and, with fear of breaking him, shook his arm carefully, she took in more closely his appearance that reminded her of an elderly man more than anything else. It's strange, because he once had tanned skin and healthy hair, alas, now it looks like her white socks after a full day bleaching in the sun – white as ever, but with an old, _used _look o join. Great, now she feels bad, and it's not even her fault!

"Soul, in all honesty, you _really _look like crap." Soul grumbles and rises from his lying position to look at her fully. He prepared a efficient retort this time, she noted, is eyes gaining that playful joy that shines whenever he's about to do something priceless like joking about her boobs (or lack of them, it depends). However, even before his lips get the chance to form the dreaded retort, he shut his yap and focused his rosy irises on the plate that Maka holds with a trail of drool escaping from the corners of his mouth.

She thinks that his case is bad when he doesn't talk, but she knows his case is completely, obviously terrible when his laziness compels him to eat first and talk later. Oh wait, scratch that, she knows that his case is completely, obviously terrible when even in his laziness he rejects a wonderful plate of food, offered to him at her will, and instead prefers to talk.

"What's that?" He asks.

She blinks at the white haired boy's brainless question, clearly not on the same wave as him. "I call it a chocolate cake, dunno what you call it in your own world though."

He slaps his face with such dread that the wrinkles around his eyes seem to disappear for a moment. "I know what it is dammit. What I meant was 'why are you holding that'?"

"It's for you?" It's not sure if she's asking him or asking herself right now, Soul's behavior confuses her so much that is messing up her mind. "I don't get it, every time I sit on the couch with a bag of chips you always want some, why's that today's different?"

And then Soul smiles that coy smile. "You baked it, right?"

_Ohhh…_ She just _knew_ he would never change. Maka joins her brows and pouts angrily. "So what if I baked it? If you're afraid to get poisoned then fine, next time I won't even try to help."

His grin and usual deep chuckle are the only things keeping her in place, and before she can even think on getting away from the boy she loved too much to leave, his hand took the plate away from her. "I'll eat, I'll eat…" But then he adds something more just to piss her off. "Nothin' more in this place anyway."

"You're lucky I don't have a book with me." Soul just grins and begins to eat.

Maka allows herself to leave the scythe's side once she's certain that her cooking isn't as atrocious as he made it out to be, because his satisfied expression was enough for her to believe. Truth is, she had one of those small vacation books in the back pocket of her yellow shorts, but he doesn't need to know that. He'll also need something to drink; she remembers the sweet dessert being fairly dry to the taste.

Her feet led her to the kitchen counter where she took a nice glass of lemonade with bits of ice and then spun around to retreat to Soul's side when something caught her interest.

The back of his head was covered in dry blood.

"What?" She exclaimed. With a hurry of someone who might be dying in front of her, she dropped the glass of lemony juice on the table and rushed towards his side, not caring if the liquid spilled to the ground. Soul only noticed her startled aura when she slipped one hand through his hair, messing with his scalp.

"Ow, _ow!_ Dammit woman!" He sped away from the couch and onto his two feet, passing a hand a little above his neck. "The… hell?"

Maka presented him the best worried face she could muster. What was that? She felt a faint gap of a wound on his head, and the whole red that tinged his snowy hair was something that led her to think the worst.

He widens his eyes in sudden realization. "This was just a small, hum… _error_, from my part. Don't worry 'bout it."

"An error from your part?" She crosses her arms. "Explain, right now."

Soul sighs and shoves his hands into the depts of his pockets, suddenly embarrassed by the train of unfortunate events that took place this afternoon. "Well… I was preparing to come home after signing up some papers for Lord Death when your father asked me to go with him to The Fields for a moment."

"Papa?" Anger rose up her head. "What did he do to you? Did he ordered you to do some 'Death Scythe Special Training'?" Her hands set themselves on her hips with the memory of her partner going around all afternoon planting dummies with his blade. She swears, one day that man-wore is going to get one hell of a payback – because karma is a bitch and she knows that better than anyone.

The scythe looked away from her, his cheeks matching his eyes. "No, actually-"

"He made you fight him didn't he? I heard him once, it slipped from his mouth that he would like to test your strength with his!"

"Yes but we didn't-"

"That idiot!" She was fuming right now, a murderous aura escaping from the pits of her soul. "What was that idiot thinking? You had a week full of studying because of your responsibilities and furthermore, we're still regaining our strength from the last mission to Spain! How can papa be so inconsiderate?"

Soul tapped his foot impatiently. "Yes but I was kind'a looking forward to it."

At his words she exploded. "You're a bigger moron than he is!"

"Well it isn't like we even got the chance to fight!" After this he plopped down on the couch again, his head nested between his hands as he rubbed it up and down, spreading more dirt around his handsome features.

Maka looked at him with a confused expression before sitting down next to him. Her eyes blinked as if corresponding to the disorder of words that she just heard. Soul and papa didn't brawl? Then how come the back of her partner's head reassembled a splashed tomato?

She waited patiently this time for a decent clarification to the jumble that was this conversation, if one could even call it that. "I was _going _to The Fields to fight him, yes, but the arena was all muddy 'cause the staff had sprinkled water over the place because of the sand and-"

No more words were needed, but still she looked at him in amazement. "You fell."

The scythe buried his head in his palms even more. It's the truth, she can tell. And he falling explains a lot: his dirty clothes (all covered up with dried mud), all the sand tainting his face and not his hair (Naigus must have washed it in order to clean his wound), the fact that he arrived a lot latter than usual and why he was so reluctant and embarrassed about the whole situation. He must have hit a rock when landing or something.

Maka sighed and got up to retrieve the empty, dirty plate from the small coffee table and return to the kitchen. This time she isn't going to mock him, not this time. He is under a lot of stress already and doesn't need more reasons to make his head eat up. Even though he deserved a good chop to make him know that things like this wouldn't happen if he just came home and rest like he needed.

An idea struck her. Soul saw his meister disappear into the hall of their shared apartment and return moments later with her undersized first-aid kit that she trustily took everywhere the duo travelled. He opened his mouth to retort at her antics as he did not need more care than what he already got. However, she didn't let him start his rant.

She opened her pack and took a package with balm, closing its lid with a click. "Just let me help, please."

Soul doesn't oppose, he can't, how can he? She asked him please and so she knows his best resolve will be either shut up and let her have her way or have his mouth clipped and nailed to the bed until the end of the month. He sighs and lies flat on the couch, back cracking as he stretches and legs dangling off the worn armrest.

Grabbing the wet cloth she brought from the sink, her arms started a gentle back and forth movement until she created a good, decent and tender pace. It was difficult at first – the wound had opened again during his ride home, smearing a trail of scarlet down his neck. He flinched with every touch, even though docile, and buried deeper and deeper until her coos and hushes established a song within him, soothing his pain like a heavy drug.

Her fingers took form on the damp material and tenderly rubbed his scalp until the dried flesh left and all it remained was the gash of the rock. Maka cringed at its deepness, passing a finger over it as her partner recoiled once more. Then, the blond moistened her fingers with the ointment and worked her way from top to bottom of his wound, massaging everywhere she passed.

For him, it was just like relaxing in a very comfy bed. Even though the couch was nowhere near comfortable as his poorly cushioned bed, in that moment it seemed the perfect place to take a nice, long nap. Maybe it's the drowsiness finally hitting him, and that together with Maka's magical hands work wonders in his damaged skin.

It didn't take long for him to start feeling relaxed under her touch, nor did he mind when sometimes a certain stinging sensation returned. He remained stretched out until Maka tapped his shoulder, signalizing the end of her work.

Groaning, he placed his hands under his chest and pushed his body up. It always bewildered him, how such petite and cold, calloused hands from the effort she places on a daily basis can feel so soft and just in perfect fit with his body. Everywhere she touched it was as if he took a load of aspirins, the only difference being that it didn't left him with a drowsy sensation afterwards.

"How did you… What _was_ that?"

She fumbles with the cloth, cleaning her hands in her knuckles and between her fingers. "This is something Professor Stein gave me, a special type of cream that helps conduct my wavelength."

"Your wavelength?" Maka nods and rounds the couch with ease, messing with the cloth as she does so.

"Kim and Lord Death are of the opinion that my soul has a particular curing wavelength. So, Stein experimented on different ointments and offered one that suited me best." She glanced behind to the first-aid kit. "Actually, this is the very first time I use it."

"So in overall, I'm acting as Stein's guinea pig." Soul snorted and leaned back on the cushions, regretting immediately after the pillow tickled his skin which sent him flying ahead again and rub his neck with disdain.

Maka mentally slapped herself at his reckless actions. All laziness and stubbornness aside, Soul is also slightly brainless in his spare time; when he really is too idle to extra-work his brain in times like these. But it is logical, if his body is tired, also is his mind and-

"-your soul." The white haired musician looks at her concernedly. She was the one not making sense now.

She knelled in front of him with fear of making any abrupt movements, with fear of hurting him more than what he was already.

"There's a connection between your mind, body and soul." The coldness of her hands was greatly welcomed by his being. The addition of the moisten fabric doing wonders on his skin.

Tenderly as always, the technician begun cleaning his face, not sparing a bit of dirt gathered somewhere over his brows and under his chin. She was blessed with accurate senses, leaving no where untouched. For a moment he let himself close his eyes and push his head further into her palms, for she was the angel that brought peace to his very core, no matter how troubled it was.

Her forehead came in touch with his as he opened his red irises at the same time she closed her green ones, her palms nested on the sides of his neck pulling him closer. "I believe all of them have a point, and if my soul can serve as some help in times like these then I will gladly do everything I can."

Suddenly Soul felt an inward harmony settled within him, and he was reminded of though drugs and best-ever-made aspirins once again. The feeling was so great, her forehead felt so good, he didn't want it to end. How much more surprises can this girl still be hiding from him?

She moved her hands from his neck to his chest, slowly pushing him further into the couch with a sweet smile pasted on her honey lips. "It's not like you're being experimented, take it as my way of curing you, by experimental massaging which I guarantee it doesn't hurt."

His lips reached forward with the goal of catching hers. They did, but not without a surprised reaction from her part. The feeling of his breath tickling her skin was so good, his scent a good mixture to the sudden surprise.

Until his teeth grazed her bottom lip and she jumped to conclusions.

She pushed away, clearly embarrassed as she never got the chance to feel comfortable every time Soul pulled a fast one on her like this. The idiot chuckled at her antics, making know his gesture was a good natured one with a soft peck on his lover's nose.

At this Maka blushed even more, but continued pushing her partner back, telling him to lie down. It wasn't like his kisses were bad, it's just that she isn't used to these little intimate affections from time to time. But since this isn't the first time (as she oh-so-mentioned earlier), she's going to let it pass as there are more important thing to worry about.

Finally, the scythe is resting on his back and the wound touching the couch's pillows doesn't hurt anymore. The back of his head is how it's always been, cool, smooth and full of dashing white hair. Maka's hands disappeared for a moment in which he slowly felt the pain returning, but then they came back – this time with the cloth over his forehead.

"Looks like you're gaining a fever." She mumbled, a tinge of red still dancing on her cheeks. "It's just a shame that this soothing technique doesn't last long. You can go to sleep here and I'll stay for a while longer, I'll wake you up when dinner's ready."

The look he sent her made the meister shy away a little, as it was full of an emotion she did not understand. "No."

"D-Do you want me to take you to your room?"

Soul took a moment to ponder on the situation at hand and then nodded. Sleeping on the couch was never a good idea, it would most probably pain his back even more and tomorrow he would need to muster the best strength he could if he was to deal with Death Scythe's mocking.

She laced his hand in hers while the other lay on his forehead, keeping the fabric in place and leading him to his sanctuary. She opened the door and guided him to his bed, meaning that between rising up from the couch on the living room and reaching his bed she was his eyes. That thought somehow made him smile, how gentle and caring the blond, rough-headed meister could be when it came to him.

The technician placed him over the covers while keeping a hand on his head, still sending her wavelength to her partner in hopes of making his drowsiness come in time for her to start cooking something for him to eat later. If Soul woke up with a growling stomach it wouldn't be 'cool', as he likes so much to mention, but he's right because it wouldn't be cool for neither of them, seeing as she's the one nursing her sick weapon and not the other way around.

So, who was she to complain? She brought the duty upon herself, by her own accord.

Minutes later, when she thought he was sound asleep, Maka stretched her arms away and begun rising to walk away from her partner when a hand caught the fabric of her sweater. She looked down at the heart-breaking image that was her partner holding his hand up, begging silently for her to join him in bed.

She pondered. Sleeping with Soul? In some corner of her mind, that thought sounded so wrong. She blushed heavily and released a shaky laugh. "I-I can't, remember? Dinner doesn't make on its own."

However, he didn't care if he ended eating something before the end of the day or not and instead pulled the petite form of his meister down to him. "Don' care." He mumbled into her hair, burying his nose within her scent and inhaling all that he could breathe in of her refreshing yet warm aroma. "Plus it's summer and you're the only cold thing in this apartment. How do you do that anyway?"

Smiling, she doesn't retort to him with the remembrance that the hall as a good AC which reaches to all the places of their little home. She gives in to the current situation and reaches up to peck his lips.

Soul looks down at her uncomfortable face after she pulls away, noticing with a grin that her blush extends down her neck and below her shirt. He blushes away too, but pulls her closer to hide it. Maka doesn't need to know his thoughts about her redness; he'll save that for some other time because this moment seemed just too good to end with a bad joke from his part.

He's just happy that she gave him at least one kiss, and so he smiles and leans closer until their noses touch and the feeling of her lips caresses his own. They relaxed like that for some time; until the fairly fertile mind of Maka Albarn decided that having a kissing session on his bed didn't do wonders for her morals.

Soul laughed at this, receiving a Maka-Chop from a book he didn't even know she had – the pain of his wound already gone and buried.

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><p>I always thought of Maka as a nerdy-nerd, so in most of her speech parts I made her a little too 'expensive with her words'. It is funny, non? And I have to say, a Soul Eater is a very rare species, so she does well in nursing the last of his kind.<p>

:DDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDDD

I really hope you've enjoyed another fanfic! Ciao :)


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